



SaU 



♦Vw 



MY SOUL, 



^\\m l{a$t ijftttl! ^fftrib, 



BY 



1/ 



HELEN R. EDSON. 



PHILADELPHIA : 

PRESBYTERIAN BOARD OF PUBLICATION, 

No. 1354 Chestnut Street. 






Copyright, 1885, by 

the trustees of the 

PRESBYTERIAN BOARD OF PUBLICATION. 



^/./, RIGHTS RESERVED. 



WESTCOTT & Thomson, 

Stereotyfers and Electrotypers, PhUacia. 



Soul, what would life have brought to thee and me 
Had we been coupled in some darker land ? 

To me a listening, as of one who dreamed 
He heard a voice, yet vainly calls again — 
Who hears the clanking of a ghostly chain, 
But cannot see the Thing that's linked to him; 
To thee a waiting, as a beggar blind 
"Waits for a guiding hand that's long delayed. 
Till, hunger-pressed, he tries to grope his way, 
Pushed hither, thither, by unkindly throngs, 
And falls at last beneath their trampling feet. 

But I have heard thy call and know thy voice, 
And we have held sweet converse through the veil 
Of flesh that hides my eyes from thee, my Soul ! 
And thou hast grasped a Hand that leadeth thee, 
And maketh sure thy steps, and feedeth thee. 



A HINDU WIDOW'S PRAYER. 



The following prayer was written in Hindu- 
stani by a heathen widow who has been taught in 
her zenana by one of the lady-missionaries of the 
Indian Female Normal School and Instruction 
Society. Sitting over against our treasury, she 
breathes this prayer to the Father whom she does 
not know : 

"O Lord, hear my prayer! No one has 
turned an eye on the oppression that we poor 
women suffer, though with weeping and crying 
and desire we have turned to all sides, hoping 
that some would save us. No one has lifted 
up his eyelids to look upon us or inquire into 
our case. We have searched above and below, 
but thou art the only One who wilt hear our 
complaint. Thou knowest our impotence, our 
degradation, our dishonor. 

" O Lord, inquire into our case. For ages 
dark ignorance has brooded over our minds 



6 A Hindu Widozv's Prayer. 

and spirits. Like a cloud of dust it rises and 
wraps us round, and we are like prisoners in 
an old and mouldering house, choked and 
buried in the dust of custom, and we have no 
strength to ga out. Bruised and beaten, we 
are like the dry husks of the sugarcane when 
the sweet juice has been extracted. All-know- 
ing God, hear our prayer, forgive our sins and 
give us power to escape, that we may see some- 
thing of thy world. O Father, when shall we 
be set free from this jail ? For what sin have 
we been born to live in this prison ? From thy 
throne of judgment justice flows, but it does not 
reach us. In this our lifelong misery only in- 
justice comes near us. O thou Hearer of 
prayer, if we have sinned against thee, for- 
give ; but we are too ignorant to know what 
sin is. Must the punishment of sin fall on 
those who are too ignorant to know what it is ? 
O great Lord, our name is written with drunk- 
ards, with lunatics, with imbeciles, with the 
very animals. As they are not responsible, we 
are not. Criminals confined in the jails for life 
are happier than we, for they know something 



\ 



A Hindit Widoiv's Pi'ayer. 7 

of thy world. They were not born in prison, 
but we have not for one day — no, not even in 
our dreams — seen thy world : to us it is noth- 
ing but a name. And, not having seen the 
world, we cannot know thee its Maker. Those 
who have seen thy works may learn to under- 
stand thee, but for us who are shut in it is not 
possible to learn to know thee. We see only 
the four walls of the house. Shall we call 
them the world, or India ? We have been born 
in this jail, and we have died here, and are dying. 
"O Father of the world, hast thou not cre- 
ated us ? Or has, perchance, some other god 
made us ? Dost thou care only for men ? Hast 
thou no thought for us women ? Why hast thou 
created our race , male and female ? O Al- 
mighty, hast thou not power to make us other 
than we are, that we too might have some 
share in the comforts of this life ? The cry 
of the oppressed is heard even in the world. 
Then canst thou look upon our victim-hosts 
and shut thy doors of justice ? O God, al- 
mighty and unapproachable, think upon thy 
mercy, which is like a vast sea, and remember 



8 A Hindu Widow's Prayer. 

us ! O Lord, save us, for we cannot bear our 
hard lot ! Many of us have killed ourselves, 
and we are still killing ourselves. O God of 
mercy, our prayer to thee is this — that the curse 
may be removed from the women of India. 
Create in the hearts of the men some sympa- 
thy, that our lives may no longer be passed in 
vain longing — that, saved by thy mercy, we 
may taste something of the joys of life." 



MY SOUL, THOU HAST MUCH 
GOODS. 



My Soul, thou hast much goods laid up. 

The years, 
Even though they be like the lean kine 

that ate 
The fat ones and were lean and hungry 

still, 
Cannot devour thy store. 

Come, sit thee down 
Before thy treasure-house, and let me 

bring 
Out from its depths thy precious hoard, 

and thou 



lO My Soul, 



Mayst feast thine eyes a while upon thy 

wealth, 
And tell me, after, where it shall be 

stored. 

But sit not thou with puffed-out eyes, 

and heart 
Bursting with vanity; spread not thy 

hands 
As if to say, " See what these earned 

for me !" 
And stretch not out thine arms, not 

smooth thy lap, 
To clasp and hold thy treasures : I must 

tell 
Thee how they came to thy possession 

first. 

II. 

Remember that thou art a woman's 

soul — 
Not as the eldest son, dashing away 



Thott hast Much Goods. ii 

His tears, steps boldly up unto the 
throne 

And crowns himself, none challenging 
his right. 

As the King's son, to sit in royal 
state ; 

Not as a man's soul comest thou to- 
day 

To bid thy comrade to display for thee 

The things thou hast laid up in thy 
storehouse. 

Remember that thou art a woman's soul, 

And learn that all that makes thee 
strong and rich 

Thou hast inherited from One who died. 

There is but one King in the universe 
To whom a woman's soul seems law- 
ful heir.^ 

1 The religion of Jesus Christ is the only one in 
which women are recognized as aclive agents and 
equal participants. 



12 My Soul, 



The Enemy would call thee bastard 
child, 

Would leave thee nameless, poor, for- 
gotten — yea, 

Unnumbered, save to swell thy broth- 
er's train. 

This King has owned thee for his daugh- 
ter, called 

Thee by his name, and made for thee a 
crown 

And sceptre, and a seat upon the 
throne. 

He "guided wittingly"^ the patriarch's 
hands 

To bless the younger with the first-born 
child. 

And his own right hand seeks the lower 
head. 

1 Gen. xlviii. 14: "And Israel stretched out his 
right hand, and laid it upon Ephraim's head, who 
was the younger, and his left hand upon Manasseh's 
head, guiding his hands wittingly, for Manasseh 



was the first-born.' 



Thou hast Much Goods. 13 

III. 
It is a gift to thee, not thine own wage 
At eventide for day of sweaty toil : 
No single precious treasure is there here 
But came by will of Him who died for 

thee; 
And thou wast made his heir partly to 

keep 
In trust for others/ whom he loved as 

well, 
The heritage they could not yet re- 
ceive. 
The narrow circle of whose outward life 
Was built up into barriers too high 
For spirits with clipped wings to over-fly. 

Perhaps to-night he will require of thee 
Swift reckoning of thy trust from him 
for them : 

* I Pet. iv. 10 : " As every man hath received the 
gift, even so minister the same one to another, as 
good stewards of the manifold grace of Gody 



My Soul, 



Shall he find all the treasure locked 
away, 

And hear the groaning of these burst- 
ing doors, 

And see the triumph of the Enemy, 

Who counts what thou dost hide his 
lawful spoils ? 

Hast thou thought thou wast the only 
daughter. 

That all thy Father's jewels were for 
thee. 

That all the crowns of gold, and robes 
of white, 

Scarlet and purple, and fine linen 
twined. 

Were given to enhance thy comeli- 
ness ? 

Hast thou been mocked so by the En- 
emy? 

IV. 

Sit in a lower seat where thou canst look 
Into the eyes of some who see not thee, 



Thou hast Much Goods. 15 



And see not what of theirs thou hast in 
store, 

Whose eyes are dim with tears and look- 
ing long 

For that which thou art keeping to thy- 
self. 

Sit low, my Soul, where thou canst hear 
their sighs 

And count the throbbing of their heavy 
hearts. 

Sit near ! It may be, in a little while. 
When thou hast seen the half of what 

thou hast. 
Thou wilt incline to share with them, 

to fling 
Into their empty laps some trinket 

small 
That pales like morning star beside the 

blaze 
Of greater gems, and so may well be 
spai-ed. 



1 6 My Soul, 



Or thou mayst long to staunch their 

bleeding tears, 
To draw their heads down on thy happy 

breast 
And teach their hearts to sing, in time 

with thine. 
The joyous Song of songs — which thou 

canst scarce 
Remember having learned — thou'st 

sung so long. 

Sit close that thou mayst warm the stif- 
fened limbs 

That never tried to walk : maybe the time 

Of healing draweth near and thou canst 
dip 

The helpless in the pool.^ How many 
years 

Have they lain here waiting thy help- 
ing hand? 

* John V. 7 : " The impotent man answered him, 
Sir, I have no man, when the water is troubled, 
to put me into the pool." 



Thou hast Much Goods. 17 

And oh, forget not to step in thyself, 
For well 1 know thee for a halting 

soul, 
Unequal in thy pace and fainting oft. 
Ah ! couldst thou learn of them to leap 

and praise, 
And never weary, or limp back to sin, 
Or turn thy face toward him who hat- 

eth thee ! 

V. 

Take off thy shoes : this is an holy 

place ; 
For first among thy treasures is a cross 
Heavy with blood and tears. 

Was it the King 
Whose tears and blood are sodden in 

this wood? 
Was this the measure of thy Father's 

love, 
That from his veins he traced his will 

for thee, 

2 



1 8 My Soul, 



And welcomed death because it made 
thee rich ? 

Come, dry thy tears : his eyes thy bot- 
tle filled ; 

And look upon this cross ! Where wilt 
thou keep 

The best thou hast ? 

Shall it be laid again 

In its dark corner, where thou mayst 
come in 

And worship it apart from common 
herds, 

With silken cushion 'neath thy silken 
knee? 

Hast thou done this to please the En- 
emy? 

Or shall I lift it up for dying eyes 

To light their fires of life by, and for 

lips 
Quivering with grief to kiss and smile 

aeain? 



TJwii hast MiicJi Goods. 19 

And shall I set it high to show the 

world 
The way out of Despond's deep mire 

and filth 
To the clean road thy feet have learned 

to tread ? 

Nay, then, take it in thine own hand, 

and let 
Its shadow cover like a brooding wing 
The storm-beat nestlings shivering by 

thy side. 

Was ever cross like this of thine ? 

It is 

For them like mother-bird^ with soft, 
warm breast ; 

For floundering wanderers a beacon- 
light; 

For yearning exiles signal for return ; 

1 Ps. xci. 4 : " He shall cover thee with his feath< 
ers, and under his wings slialt thou trust." 



20 My Soul, 



For men whose brows are marked a 

refuge sure ; 
Pillar of fire and cloud to lead the host 
That marches, never halting, night and 

day. 
With eyelids sealed and hands crossed 

on still breasts, 
Through earthen portals to the Great 

White Throne. 

VI. 

What shall I show thee next ? 

Wilt see thy crown. 

Fashioned of purest gold, as would befit 

Thy Father's daughter? but there are 
no stars 

Upon the circlet. Shall thy crown go 
bare 

While other diadems are lighting heav- 
en? 

Lead by the hand these heavy-laden 
souls 



Thou hast Much Goods. 21 

Up to the hill where burdens roll away, 
And, parting, they will leave within thy 

hand 
Guerdon of gems to shine upon thy 

brow.^ 

VII. 

And how much owest thou unto thy 

Lord 
For giving thee a Christian parentage ? 
Here are a father's and a mother's 

prayers, 
Angels upon the ladder's stairs to bear 
Upward thy needs and back a quick 

supply. 
Before I knew thee was thy fibre spun 
By faithful souls that hoped and loved 

and prayed, 

1 Dan. xii. 3 : " And they that be wise shall shine 
as the brightness of the firmament; and they that 
turn many to righteousness as the stars for ever 
and ever." 



22 My Soul, 



And stretched thy warp of life both 

strong and clean. 
What threads and colors hast thou 

woven in, 
And whose design is in this pattern 

wrought ? 
Here it is close and firm, the texture 

fine : 
Thy hand was careful all along this 

length, 
As if the Master stood and watched 

thee weave; 
But here 'tis loose and thin, my easy 

Soul! 
And here and there some ugly rag is 

drawn 
Which thou hast borrowed from the 

Enemy. 
Carest thou not enough for thine own 

life 
To make it worthy of thy Father's 

child ? 



TJioiL hast Much Goods. 23 

And here the shuttle hangs, still full of 
thread : 

Didst think the fabric rich and long 
enough 

To clip out of the loom ere it was 
noon ? 

Thou wouldst not be content with meas- 
ure scant, 

That clothes thyself, but has no length 
to spare 

To warm these who have never learned 
to weave. 

Whose life begins and ends in tangled 
skeins, 

Soiled by the enemy and thrown 
away. 

Thou couldst not walk serene in flow- 
ing robes 

To give a reckoning of thy steward- 
ship 

With these thy sisters naked by thy 
side : 



24 My Soul, 



What if the King should strip thee, to 
thy shame, 

Before the eyes that scarce dare scan 
thee now? 

Back to thy work, with all thy strength 
and skill ! 

Only when they are clad and day is 
done 

Thou'lt draw the shuttle from thy fin- 
ished life. 

VIII. 

Is it thy talent in this napkin wrapped, 

My slothful Soul ? 

Nay, frame me no excuse. 

Nor try to look as thou wast innocent. 

'Tis well that I have brought this treas- 
ure out 

In time to send it forth to seek a mate : 

If other hand than mine had oped these 
doors 

And found thy talent single still, how 
could 



Thou hast Much Goods. 25 

I bear to see thee cast away, my Soul, 
And ever hear thee weep and gnash thy 

teeth,^ 
And hear the laughter of the Enemy ? 
Thou temptest me to wish I knew thee 

not: 
Without thee I might live like flitting 

bird. 
Forgetting yester-storms, unheeding 

clouds, 
And end my life in death as bubbles burst. 
But I am linked to thee, O faithless 

Soul! 
Carest thou not if thou and I be lost. 
That thou wouldst leave so easy task 

undone ? 
Lend it to these who sit by thee, and 

they 
Shall quickly shower back into thy lap 

1 Matt. XXV. 30 : " And cast ye the unprofitable 
servant into outer darkness : there shall be weep- 
ing and gnashing of teeth." 



26 My Soul, 



So rich return that thou wilt hail the 

day 
Of reckoning with joy. 

IX. 

Here is thy home, 
Where Love hath rule supreme. With 

jealous eyes 
She watches all that comes nigh thee ; 

she guards 
Thy happiness, and gives thee room to 

grow 
And prove what is the stature of a soul. 
Remember that thou art a woman's soul, 
And thank the King with every rising 

sun 
For giving thee a home that is a shrine 
Crowded with household gods, where 

highest sits 
The one that bears thy countenance. 

How rich 
A blessing waits on woman in a land 



TJwii hast Much Goods. 27 

Where mother, wife and home and 

honored love 
Are kindred words — a chain of costly 

links : 
Move either one, and thou hast stirred 

them all. 

What would these sister-women's starv- 
ing hearts 

Count dear to pay for one short day of 
love 

And honor ? — they thy Father's daugh- 
ters too, 

Beaten and empty sent away whene'er 

They lift a hand to ask an alms of love ! 

Thou canst not share thy fireside joys 

with those 
Whose home is but a shelter dearly 

bought, 
And thou thyself wouldst not be satisfied 
With earthly love alone ; albeit sweet, 



28 My Soul, 



It leaves a lingering taste of clay behind. 
And earthly love can neither make a 

shield 
To turn the arrows of thine Enemy, 
Nor hear thy wounds, nor nerve thy 

failing arm. 
But when, in times of conflict, thou art 

pressed. 
Must stand outside and wring its help- 
less hands. 
My woman-soul. 

Remember Him who stands 
Within the veil of thine own templed 

life, 
Strong to defend and quick to feel thy 

need. 
How often thou hast seen the Enemy 
Driven away at thy first cry for help ! 
Since thou art never left to fight 

alone, 
Thou needst not be afraid, for he is 

near. 



Tho2i hast Much Goods. 29 



Remember these poor sister-women's 

souls, 
Wounded and left for dead upon the 

ground : 
They know no god beside the Enemy 
Who smites the mouths that bend to 

kiss his sword. 
Go lift them up, for thou hast words of 

cheer 
To pour into their wounds for oil and 

wine. 

Ah ! tell them there is One whose love 
for them 

Is like a welling spring which over- 
brims 

And runs to meet the parching traveler ; 

Or like a father who with shaded eyes 

Stands peering down the old familiar 
lane 

To hail the wand'rer's shadow as it creeps 

Before him at the turning, while his lips 



30 My Soul, 



Are budding welcomes, at a breath to 

bloom ; 
Or like a mother with full aching breast 
Who hastens home to bless, and sees 

her babe 
Turn from her listless, cloyed with 

meaner food. 
A woman may forget her sucking child/ 
Forget the pain of pent-up fount of love, 
But He cannot forget his little ones. 
And so, if *' father " seem too harsh a 

name 
To ears that hear withal a hissing lash. 
By answering chords in their own wo- 
man-hearts 
Thou'lt win them to the motherhood^ 
of God. 

1 Isa. xlix. 15 : "Can a woman forget her suck- 
ing child? . . . Yea, they may forget, yet will I 
not forget thee.*' 

2 Isa. Ixvi. 13: "As one whom his mother com- 
forteth, so I will comfort you." 



ThoiL hast Mtich Goods. 31 

Oh, father-mother love so rich, so 

free ! — 
A well whence no man's hand need help 

thee draw, 
A love that waits with golden chain and 

ring 
To seal forgiveness ere the sinner craves ; 
Love that is anguish if it may not flow 
In pulsing current from the heart of God 
To nourish feeble souls and comfort 

them ; 
A love that flashes keen as sword 

from sheath 
To save His darlings from the Enemy ! 

X. 

Now art thou strong enough to have 

thy griefs 
Borne out and laid before thine eyes ? 

Since thou 
Hast stored them with thy blessings, it 

would seem 



32 My Soul, 



That thou hast learned to read their 

worth aright. 
How long a time thou didst bewail and 

cry, 
And tear thy wounds agape with willful 

hand 
To make thee cry again whene'er thy lips 
Forgot to tremble and essay to smile, 
Till some who loved thee, weary of thy 

noise. 
Marveled within them how the Hand 

that gave, 
And, after, culled thy flowers to bloom 

for aye, 
Could bear with thine unreason, and 

not send 
Them back to wilt upon thy selfish breast! 



How greatly art thou changed since 

thou hast let 
The Healer come and heal thee ! Thou 

hast gained 



Thoti hast Much Goods. 33 

A finer beauty, never bloomed of joy, 
And even the beggar at the gate can 

feel 
Thy voice has caught its sweeter key 

from heaven. 

I know a tree, late-grafted at the top, 

Whose lower boughs droop low with 
native fruit 

That almost marks it for the wood- 
man's axe; 

For they who walk beneath would nev- 
er know 

That it is crowned with fruitage ripened 
sweet, 

Pecked at by birds and swung by idle 
winds. 

Only that storms and frosts make some 
to fall. 

It will be little missed when it is felled 

To clear a path to trees whose veins 
run sweet. 
3 



34 -^y Sotd, 



Thus did the good thou hadst hang 

out of reach 
Of thirsty wayfarers and children's 

hands, 
Held high for harvesters that bruised 

and rent 
And flung its tender beauty on the 

ground. 

XI. 

Where shall thy griefs be laid ? 

Not out of sight 
On burial-towers/ stripped bare for 
vultures' beaks : 

1 The Parsees in India lay the naked bodies of 
their dead on high towers, where they are com- 
pletely stripped of flesh in an incredibly short time 
by birds of prey. A traveler says : " One of the 
painful recollections of my visit to Bombay is that 
of the sound of the heavily-flapping wings of 
crowds of vultures returning every day to seek 
that food ! There can be no forgetting possible 
to the living in Bombay." 

The writer has chosen this illustration, having 



TJioii hast Mitch C">ods. 35 

Birds of Oblivion, once they're fed, re- 
turn 

On loudly-flapping wings to seek fresh 
prey. 

If thou art loth to rise and serve thy 
guests, 

They'll tear thy empty hands to make 
their feast. 

Open the flood-gates and let Lethe roll 
In smooth black tide to bury deep thy 

past, 
And, lo ! thy first glance backward shall 

reveal 
Dead faces floating on its treach'rous 

breast. 
Grief hath a shallow grave, and Memory 
Steals out by night, leaving the Will 

asleep, 

learned by both experience and observation that 
the sorrowful thoughts and memories which one 
is most determined to put away are most impor- 
tunate and poignant. 



36 My Soul, 



And digs her up, and brings her home 
again, 

Wraps her cold form in robes Joy left 
behind. 

Turns back the hands upon the dial- 
plate 

To point again to happy hours gone 

by, 

Calls up a throng of loved ones van- 
ished long, 
And plays at merrymaking till the dawn. 

The Will, awakening, routs poor Mem- 
ory's guests. 

And buries Grief alive with ruthless 
hand. 

Then rules the busy household through 
the day. 

But Memory lies down and feigns to 
sleep. 

And restless bides his time till night 
returns 



Thou hast Much Goods. 37 

To set him free to seek his darhng's 

side; 
And Grief lies dumb and open-eyed all 

day, 
Peeping 'tween clods to see the sun go 

down, 
Assured of being disentombed at night. 
Sometimes the twain rebel and bind the 

Will, 
And make him sit and watch the revel 

through. 

Grief cannot be destroyed or hid 
away, 

And cannot be forgot, since Mem- 
ory 

Doth rove with lidless eyes that never 
sleep. 

Can Time with tireless cunning knot 
the grass 

Above her grave and keep her there 
for aye ? 



38 Mf Son/, 



Jacob was borne upon a tide of 
years 

So far that he could almost touch the 
heights 

Where Rachel waited for her lover 
true. 

Old Age had kindly dimmed his eyes 
to earth, 

Swarming with faces and new tiresome 
scenes, 

And then with softest fingers stopped 
his ears 

And muffled sounds that pressed to en- 
ter in. 

So oft his mute thoughts slipped the 
darkened cage 

To wander back to their old nesting- 
place, 

Folding their wings in every best-loved 
spot : 

Here, Rachel talked with him beside 
the well. 



'Ihoit fiast Much Lrooas. 39 

And there, he walked with her in La- 
ban's fields, 

Telling the story of his flight from 
home, 

And planning how he might return to 
take 

Possession of his heritage ; and she 

Should go back with him to his father- 
land, 

Where he would be a king, with her 
for queen. 

^^And Rachel died by me zvhile in the 
way r^ 

1 There are few more touching incidents in the 
Bible than the death of . Jacob. Full of years 
and honors, his ambitions satisfied, the old man's 
thoughts turn back to Rachel; he is mourning for 
her still. Rachel loved him, and her heart still 
beats in the faithful breasts of Benjamin and Jo- 
seph. Every other loss has been made up to him ; 
Joseph is restored to him; he lives in plenty; but 
the tears that " God shall wipe away " from Jacob's 
face well up when he remembers, on his dying- 



40 My Soul, 



Only a little way lay yet beyond, 

A few more steps, to wealth and hon- 
ored place; 

*'And Rachel died by me while in the 
ivay r 

So Jacob mourned for Rachel all his 
days. 

XII. 

Where shall thy griefs be kept ? 

I would not have 
Them borne through life before thee on 

a bier. 
Darkening the highways with thy pomp 

of woe 
And curbing all thy steps to funeral 

pace, 
Since He who raised the widow's son 

at Nain 

day, how he started for Canaan with Rachel, and 
how she died " when there was yet but a little way 
to come unto Ephrath." 



Thou hast Much Goods. 



Walks on the earth no more to meet 

the train; 
Nor worn next to thee, hke a friar's 

shirt 
Of barbed cloth, to rasp and flay thy 

skin 
And fret away thy needed strength for 

work. 

Did ever mother of a new-crowned 
king 

Follow his throneward steps in sable 
veil, 

Beating her breast that gave him nour- 
ishment 

Because he lies not there a baby still ? 

Did ever parent-bird whose full-fledged 
brood 

On oft-taught wings have soared to 
heaven's blue 

Refuse to sing, and 'wail the empty 
nest, 



42 My Soul, 



And wish them crowded back in fragile 

shells ? 
And shall the mother of an angel 

hide 
Her face to wring out sorrow from her 

heart, 
And long to pluck from him his new- 
found wings, 
And make him tread life's thorny road 

with her^ 
To drag him back from heights once 

safely gained 
And make him climb, perchance with 

slipping feet, 
The painful steep, led by her own weak 

hand? 
This is the measureful of love: 

enough 
To love those whom we clasp, to loose 

our hold 
And watch their upward flight as one 
would stand 



Thou hast Much Goods. 43 

Smiling and throwing kisses on the 

shore, 
Then turn to toil a while ere following.^ 



XIII. 

Ah ! even in thy griefs thou'rt blest, my 
Soul! 

Thy feet go lightly, half upborne by 
wings, 

And oftentimes thy thoughts fly up 
like birds 

To sing in company with thy be- 
loved ; 

And, like the faithful dove loosed from 
the ark. 

They always bring a token back to thee 

That they have found a place of rest 
and peace. 

^ I Thess. iv. 13 : " But I would not have you to 
be ignorant, brethren, concerning them which are 
asleep, that ye sorrow not, even as others which 
have no hope." 



44 My Soul, 

How Cometh grief to those who have 

no hope ? 
As heavy blows fall on a poor blind 

beast 
That gasps and shudders, helpless in its 

thrall- 
That knows not whence they come, nor 

why, and fears 
To try to flee away lest worse befall. 

Nay, what is grief to those who have 

no hope? 
What is the grinding of the uppei 

stone 
Upon the nether, with a heart between ? 

And what is life to those who have no 

hope? 
A little space upon a rock-bound shore, 
A little time to watch a crawling tide 
Ere it shall spring to claim them as its 

prey. 



Thou hast Mnch Goods. 45 

XIV. 

My Soul, thou hast indeed much goods 
laid up ! 

Come, tell me where this blessing shall 
be stored : 

Must grief alone, of all I have dis- 
played, 

Lie idle in the empty treasury 

To swell the riches of the enemy ? 

And has the King bestowed one gift 
for thee 

To keep or hide away, if so thou 
wilt. 

Unblessed to those thou'rt learning fast 
to love ? 

Christ thought it worth his while to 

prove its use : 
He joined the ranks and marched with 

even step 
Shoulder to shoulder with the men he 

made 



46 My Soul, 



The long way from the cradle to the 

grave. 
He shrank not when he came to Ma- 

rah's brink/ 
Nor shut his lips against the bitter 

draught 
That always lent some sharper pang to 

thirst ; 
His tears fell in and made it sweet 

thenceforth : 
Earth's tears were turned to wine when 

Jesus wept. 

"^ man of sorrows and acquaint with 
grief;' 

He knows its many shapes and uses 
well; 

He could not gird mankind about him- 
self: 

The bond would be too short, this length 
untwined. 

^ John xi. 35 : "Jesus wept." 



Thou hast Much Goods. 47 

Since grief was plunged into his human 

heart 
It is no more a hiltless two-edged blade, 
But in his master-hand becomes a tool 
To hew a stone and show an angel's 

face. 

And he can make it still, like summer 

showers 
Whose softly-tapping fingers waken 

wide 
The beauty slumbering 'mid ranks of 

thorns. 

And he can mould it to the surest key 
To open hearts and let his love come in. 

And he can use thy griefs, by Hope at- 
tuned, 

To teach thy sisters' hearts to sing like 
thine, 

If thou wilt only lay thy heart to theirs. 



48 My Soul, 



The bridge that spans the gulf 'twixt 
rich and poor 

Must have foundations laid on either 
side : 

None are so strong and deep as little 
graves. 

When eyes look into eyes through fall- 
ing tears, 

Easy a bow of promise springs across, 

And thou mayst pass to them and they 
to thee. 

Then clasp them in thine arms as kin- 
dred meet 

In alien lands to tell the news from home. 

From home ! And hast thou news for 

them from home ? 
Mothers of angels,^ dreaming not of 

heaven, 

^ It is an accepted fact that one-third of the 
human race die in infancy. The statistics having 
been gathered in Christian lands, where natural 



Thou hast Much Goods. 49 

Not knowing even that life on earth is 

but 
The narrow threshold of an endless 

life, 
Watching the thickening clouds in shal- 

low skies, 

affection is strong and self-asserting and Science 
uses her best efforts to save and guard the lives 
of little children, the conclusion is unavoidable 
that in heathen lands the proportion is far greater. 
Not only are the conditions unfavorable — the ten- 
der age at which the women marry, and the cruel 
neglect of them at times when they most need 
care; the singularly crazy, ill-contrived rules for 
the care of infants, and the callousness of their 
parents' hearts toward them — but, as if this were 
not enough, they have been systematically de- 
stroyed in many heathen lands from time imme- 
morial. In our day many are born ; few are reared. 
It would be hard to find a Chinese, Hindu, Per- 
sian or African woman twenty-five years of age 
who is not a " mother of angels." The writer 
felt a tugging at her heart that almost tore it when 
the Lord shov/ed her this bond between herself and 
her heathen sisters. 
4 



50 My Soul, 



But thinking not to search their depths 

to see 
The crowds of Httle faces bending down ! 

Mothers of angels, 

When they laid away 
; The swiftly-purpling flesh to turn to 
dust, 

They flung in Hope and Love and cov- 
ered them, 

And thought that Love and Hope had 
died as well. 

Thou knowst the hallowed words that 
open graves, 

That call forth Hope and Love, though 
buried long, 

And send them back to bless a home 
again. 

Sweet Hope, that's born of Faith ! 

She makes the earth 



Thou hast Mitch Goods. 51 

Lie lightly on the forms thou lay'st 

away, 
And whispers that thy dead shall live 

again 
To cheer thy steps back to thine empty 

home. 
How. couldst thou come away from 

new-made graves 
And turn again to daily rounds of 

toil 
With wonted strength if Hope lay dead 

behind ? 

Sweet Love ! 

She stays to bind the riven heart 

That's torn in twain and one half hid 
away, 

While half a heart is left to try to beat. 

Love's cord, 'twixt hearts that go and 
hearts that stay. 

Holds fast ; and hearts that go can nev- 
er stray 



52 My Soul, 



More than the tether's length from 
hearts that stay. 

And Love can teach the lower heart 
to spring 

To join its upper half in closer bond 

Whene'er 'tis loosened from the body's 
weight. 

Ah ! thou wouldst turn away from new- 
made graves 

To bleed and faint if Love lay dead be- 
hind. 

Oh, pray to be the clay^ in hands divine 

To open their blind eyes and let them 
see 

The gates of pearl, the streets of shin- 
ing gold. 

The many mansions long prepared for 
them, 

The smiling, loving One upon the 
throne, 

1 John ix, 6 : " And he anointed the eyes of the 
blind man with the clay." 



ThoiL hast Miich Goods. 53 

And, leaning on his breast, clasped in 

his arms, 
The little ones they lost all safe at home. 

What is it to the snow-bound trav- 
eler, 

Laid down to die in his own circling 
track. 

Darkness enshrouding him while yet 
alive. 

Death crouching near like fierce and 
cunning beast. 

Lulling his prey to sleep ere breaking 
fast, 

To lift his drowsy eyes to bid fare- 
well 

To earth and see a new-lit windoiv 
near, 

With rosy faces pressed against the 
pane^ 

In cheerfiil talk to watch for his re- 
turn ? 



54 My Soul, 



What is it to the sleeper racked with 

dreams 
To wake and hear his loved one's 

breathing soft? 

XV. 

And thou hast news from home — their 
home and thine ! 

Tell them all's well at home. 

The lions Sin 

And Pain and Want, securely chained 
outside, 

Can never enter in to vex or harm ; ^ 

And life flows on in smooth and end- 
less course, 

Unstirred by troubling thought of want 
or woe. 

Once safe within the gates, the souls 
they love 

1 Rev. xxi. 4, 27 : " Neither shall there be any 
more pain. And there shall in nowise enter into 
it anything that defileth," 



TJlou hast MncJi Goods. 55 



Will no more listen to the lying 

tongue 
Or fear the hatred of the Enemy. 



XVI. 

Tell them about the marriage-feast : 

'Tis spread 
With careful bounty for each bidden 

guest ; 
"The Spirit and the bride say, Come,"^ 

and they 
Who hear must summon them who 

hear it not. 
But who will bid them come if thou 

art slack ? 
How wilt thou sit thee down to eat and 

drink 
And make excuse for some thou didst 

not ask ? 

^ Rev. xxii. 17: "The Spirit and the bride say, 
Come. And let him that heareth say, Come." 



56 My Soul, 



Is there in heaven a flowing tide of 
bliss 

That at the full will hide their empty 
seats ? 

Thou knowst how Joseph sought a 
place to weep — 

Loathing the sight of his own sleek, 
plump skin, 

And Egypt reeling 'neath her load of 
corn — 

Because his poor old father drooped at 
home 

And fleetest messengers might be too 
late; 

And Dives asked no respite for him- 
self, 

But only longed to warn those left be- 
hind. 

Is this one fire of hell — to lift our 
eyes 

And see the souls we love fast follow- 
ing? 



TJioii hast Much Goods, 57 

XVII. 

Tell them they're missed at home.^ 

Death's crucible 
Consumes not love. Hearts that have 

learned to beat 
By listening to a mother's beating heart, 
Long folded close, could never quite 

forget 
To beat most restfully when near her 

heart. 
What though there be no night, no 

sleepy-time, 
No need of lullaby or evening prayer. 
No pang of hunger and no burn of 

thirst. 
No hurt to bind, no tear to kiss away ?^ 
Heaven never echoed to a baby's cry, 

^ Luke XV. 10 : " There is joy in the presence of 
the angels of God over one sinner that repenteth." 

2 Rev. xxi. 4: "And God shall wipe away all 
tears from their eyes, and there shall be no more 
death, neither soitow, nor ciying." 



58 My Soul, 



But some must wonder why the time is 

long, 
And miss their mothers in the shining 

throng. 

How does the baby laugh and crow 

and seem 
To be beguiled from loneliness ! and yet 
It drops its toys and reaches out its arms 
At the first sound of mother's home- 
ward steps, 
And cuddles in her arm-nest, cooing 

low. 
'Tzvas happy then, but noiv is satisfied ! 

XVIIL 

Yea, they are missed at home : 

Christ's bleeding hands, 
Telling the jewels that he earned with 

them. 
Find many lacking. In his kingly 

crown 



TJioii J last MiicJi Goods. 59 

How many empty settings there must 
be! 

He loves them. When the spear's 
point cleft his side, 

It pierced their names inscribed upon 
his heart. 

What though the "ninety-nine" be fold- 
ed safe ? ^ 

He cannot rest content if one be lost. 

*' For Jesus' sake," we pray, and always 
wield 

A lever, thus, to move Omnipo- 
tence, 

Because bestowing riches makes him 
rich, 

" For Jesus' sake ;" because he died to 
save, 

And yearns to keep, " for Jesus' sake, 
amen !" 

^ Matt, xviii. 12 : " Doth he not leave the ninety 
and nine, and goeth into the mountains, and seek- 
eth that which is gone astray?" 



6o My Soul, 



XIX. 

Tell them there's rest at home — 

Not as the slave 

Drops in the furrow, pillowed on his 
yoke, 

After a day of toil, while taskmas- 
ters 

Are wooed and won by sleep on beds 
of down : 

Not so thy Father giveth rest in heav- 



Thy King came down and tilled the 
earth he made; 

Yoked with the slave, he shared his 
scanty crumbs. 

Homeless and hungry in his own do- 
main, 

1 Rev. xiv. 13 : " Blessed are the dead which die 
in the Lord from henceforth : Yea, saith the Spirit, 
that they may rest from their labors; and their 
works do follow them," 



Thou hast Much Goods. 6i 



He stooped to toil to win sweet rest for 
slaves, 

That at the furrow's end their weary 
souls 

Might find the Everlasting Arms out- 
stretched 

To bear them straight away to Para- 
dise; 

And so thy Father giveth rest in heav- 
en. 

See how a mother lifts her sleeping 
child 

With fondling arms, and lays it close 
by her. 

She sleeps, but sets her waking heart 
to watch, 

And sound alarm at Danger's first ap- 
proach ; 

And when the morning opens flowers 

and eyes. 
Though Sleep hath taken wing, sweet 
Rest remains. 



62 My Soul, 



XX. 

Tell them the way. 

Lo ! thou hast strained thine eyes 

To follow thy loved ones within the 
gates. 

The path they trod has shining foot- 
prints still, 

And the same Guide who led them 
safely through 

Stands by, with waiting hand and plead- 
ing face. 

For thee to lay thy sisters' hands in 
his. 

That he may joyfully convey tl^ 
home. 

XXI. 

Now look no more. 

Thou couldst not bear to sit 
In the rock's cleft and see the world 
pass by 



Thou hast Much Goods. 63 



Without the hand of God to cover thee. 

He only looks and lives. 

See ! I have shown 

Thee but some difference between thy- 
self, 

Since thou'st crept up to kiss his gar- 
ment's hem, 

And risen to the height of a saved soul, 

And women's souls still bowed — bent, 
crippled souls 

That hardly lift their eyes above the 
ground ; 

And I can feel thee trembling with de- 
sire 

To break the chain that binds thee fast 

to me, 
Fretting because my feet are rooted 

here, 
For thou wouldst fly to carry help to 

all. 
At last thou'st learned to love thy sis- 
ters' souls ! 



64 My S021I, TJioii hast Much Goods. 

Now, wilt thou ever sit at ease again 
Or call thy treasures back to bide with 

thee? 
O Soul ! rejoice that it is not too late 
To bless thy sisters with their Father's 

wealth. 
Thou wilt not say, " What is my little 

store ?" 
A world is filled if his hand breaks a 

loaf. 
Share all thou hast with them; and 

when thy hands 
Have learned to give as fast as they 

receive, 
Thou'lt have much goods laid up in 

heaven. 

My Soul ! 



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